


Room #25

by schneestern



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Masturbation, Reader-Insert, Sleeping with your boss, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneestern/pseuds/schneestern
Summary: You share a room with Hotch, while the team is on a case. In the middle of the night you get woken up by a strange sound.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Original Female Character(s), Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Comments: 17
Kudos: 287





	Room #25

**Author's Note:**

> Be advised: There is some light but consensual choking in this, so if that is not your thing, you should probably skip this.

“Well, looks like we’ll be sharing again,” Rossi says and is met by the collective groan of the team. This has been happening way too often lately and you and JJ keep speculating, if either someone is doing this to your team on purpose or if the FBI is making secret budget cuts.

Hotch frowns, but steps up next to Rossi, plucking the motel room keys from his hand. “Guys, I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s late and we have an early start tomorrow. Let’s just accept it for now and as soon as we’re done here, I’ll figure out what is going on with the constant mixups.”

You can see Morgan roll his eyes at that and are inclined to agree. Hotch always does whatever he can for all of you, but you’re not sure he’ll be able to stand in the way of secret budget cuts, if that’s what this is.

“Alright,” Hotch fans the keys out like a deck of cards. “JJ and Prentiss, you take room 13, Rossi and Reid are in 14. Y/N and I will take 25 and I believe it’s Morgan’s turn to enjoy a room to himself, you’re at 28.”

They each take their key from Hotch. Rossi claps Morgan on the back and good-naturedly calls him, “Lucky Bastard.” Reid tries to look offended, but is betrayed by his own smile. No one in the team minds bunking together, but the privilege of a quiet motel room to yourself is one you all wish you had.

Ever since they started booking too few rooms for you, you’ve started alternating who gets a room to themselves to keep things fair. You fondly think of the last case, when you used the privacy of that room to unwind by dancing to the cheesy 80s playlist you always have downloaded on your phone for such occasions.

You pick up your go-bag from the floor and follow Hotch outside. He holds the door open for you and distractedly smiles, when you thank him. He looks like he’s a million miles away, so you barely talk as you walk across the courtyard of the motel, past the rented SUVs and towards the rooms numbered 20 to 30.

You wonder what he’s so preoccupied with, probably the case and what he’ll say to the big bosses about those missing extra motel rooms once you’re back at Quantico. Sometimes it feels to you, like Hotch never really stops working and you wonder how he’s still so calm about it all, even though it must be exhausting.

Your room is right in the middle of a row of identical doors and Hotch briskly walks up to it, sliding the keycard into the slot at the door. 

The light blinks red. 

Hotch sighs and tries again, but the light blinks red again.

“Come _on_ ,” he says under his breath and tries and fails a third time.

You can almost feel the impatience radiating off him, so you grab his wrist to stop him and take the card away from him. “Let me try,” you say and then belatedly realize you're still sort of holding Hotch’s hand and drop it like it’s on fire.

 _Smooth_ , you tell yourself, but Hotch doesn’t seem to have noticed. He steps away from you and is content to let you try your luck.

You slowly push the card into the slot and then snatch it out fast. 

The light turns green.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the faintest smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Seems like I chose the right person to sleep with,” he says and you whip around to look at him, because he did not just say that.

A look of sheer terror crosses over Hotch’s face and you can’t help yourself and laugh. 

He immediately starts apologizing, which only makes you laugh more and then he joins you, something like relief on his face and something else you can’t quite place.

“Sorry about that, Y/N. That came out all wrong.”

You shake your head and smile at him. “It’s fine, Hotch, don’t worry about it. It’s been a long day.”

He nods and goes to open the door, but when he pushes down the door handle it doesn’t budge. 

The door’s locked again.

You huff out a laugh and push the keycard into his hand. “Go ahead and try the new skill I just taught you,” you pause for effect, “sir.”

He gives you a look that is strangely intense, nothing like the laugh you were going for, but before you can apologize, he slides the card into the lock and it opens on the first try. 

“Finally,” he mutters, but still lets you walk inside first.

You choose the bed furthest from the door and throw your go-bag on it. Then you sit, testing the mattress (too hard) and start to undo the laces of your shoes.

You try not to watch Hotch too closely, as he puts his bag on the floor next to his bed. He loosens his tie and slips it over his head, folds it neatly on the nightstand. Then he unbuttons his shirt sleeves and rolls them up to his elbows, one after the other.

And it’s really actually true, you don’t mind sharing rooms with any of the team. But Hotch, well, that’s a different story. 

The two of you rarely end up in the same room to begin with. Sometimes it feels like it’s on purpose, even though you’re sure Hotch has his own mental roster to keep things balanced between the team.

The thing is, you like Hotch. 

He’s a good boss and you like his considerate, calm way of handling things. But there’s also the thing where you’re beginning to like _like_ Hotch and that makes sharing a room with him sort of problematic. 

You realize you’ve been staring at your shoes on the carpeted floor like an idiot, when Hotch walks around to your bed and softly taps your shoulder. You look up at him and he’s holding out his hand to you.

For a short, irrational moment you feel like he’s asking you to dance, then you remember. You unclip your gun from your side and hand it to him. 

He gives you a nod and then kneels on the floor between your beds and opens the safe.

“I’ll set your badge number as the PIN,” he says.

“You know that by heart?” The surprise is evident in your voice.

You can’t see Hotch, where he’s efficiently locking away your guns, but the smile in his voice is there, when he says, “You know, Y/N, Reid isn’t the only one with a great memory.”

“Fair enough,” you have to admit, but secretly think it’s not just about having a good memory. 

True, Hotch is good at keeping track of things, but you have come to realize that he’s especially good at it, when it comes to his team. 

Just last week, he brought Garcia back a magnet of a unicorn after an intense case and because he’d overheard her telling Morgan weeks before how collecting all things unicorn was her new thing. 

You like that side about Hotch, the thoughtfulness he puts into everything he does. 

But that doesn’t help with the well, _thing_ (you’re definitely not calling it a crush), you have for him.

The safe locks and Hotch stands back up, looking down at you. Your eyes trail over his bare arms and the way he’s standing just close enough to touch. 

Yeah, you definitely have a problem.

 _Focus_ , you tell yourself and look up at him.

“Sorry, uh, what?”

Aaron looks at you curiously, but repeats his question, “I just wanted to know, if it was alright with you, if I took the first shower?”

You shake your head. “No, that’s fine. I think I’ll go and grab something to drink from the vending machine. Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

He walks away from you and to his bag, just as you slip into your shoes again. You leave the laces undone and head past him, keycard in hand.

+++

As you walk to the vending machine, night air sharp against your bare arms, you try to get your thoughts under control. 

You like this job. 

A lot. 

You like your team and Hotch and it would be really helpful, if your feelings would also get on board with the whole professionalism thing.

It’s just that--something about him bypasses all your defenses, always. 

The way he gives you his complete attention, when you tell him about a theory you have on an UnSub. Or how he always pretends Reid isn’t totally cheating him at cards, if he so much as looks away for a second. Or how he works more hours, finishes the team reports, just so you can all leave early on a Friday night. 

Or how he sometimes looks at you, when he thinks you won’t notice, in a way that makes heat curl in your belly.

Yeah, you totally have a crush on your boss that is not going to go away anytime soon.

You resolve to be your most professional self in the next few days and just ignore the whole problem. 

It has worked for you before.

At the vending machine you buy a Sprite for yourself and on an impulse a Diet Coke for Hotch. You have no idea why, but he likes to drink the stuff and you smile when you remember how you found out about that particular quirk.

It was on a case, months ago, when you bumped into him on the first floor of the hotel the team was staying at. He was looking out a window, a can of that horrible stuff loosely curled in his hand.

“Didn’t know you had vices, Hotch,” you’d said to him and he’d turned to you in surprise, looking almost guilty. 

“Leftover habit from law school,” he finally said and shrugged at you, “but probably a better way to stay awake than cocaine.”

He’d surprised you into laughing, the dry way he’d said it, but what stuck with you was the look he gave you as you laughed. 

You take your time walking back to your room, shoelaces dragging across the asphalt. Now that the adrenaline of the briefing and the first few hours at the local field office have passed, you feel the tiredness settle into your bones.

+++

The door unlocks with a soft click and you step back into the room. 

Hotch has claimed the small table by the wall opposite your beds and spread out some case files. His hair is wet and slicked back, the white t-shirt still damp at the neck. He’s wearing a pair of boxers, bare legs stretched out under the table.

 _Be professional_ , you tell yourself and walk over to him, sliding into the chair opposite his.

He looks up at you and when he sees the can of Diet Coke a genuine smile spreads over his face. 

“I regret ever telling you about that, Y/N,” he says, but it’s playful and relaxed.

“I’m very good at remembering blackmail-worthy things,” you tell him and he raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you checking the family’s medical history for the profile?” You ask him, before he can say anything, eager to change the subject.

Hotch absently nods, focus already back on the papers in front of him. 

You toe off your shoes, get comfortable in the chair and pull over some of the pieces of paper with his notes on them.

Before you can ask, Hotch hands you a pen and you start going over his meticulously documented thoughts, adding your own and expanding on his.

You get lost in the case details, working the family history and the next time you look up, you see Hotch yawning. 

He runs a hand through his hair and looks at the clock on his phone. 

“Let’s call it a night,” he says and you nod.

“I’ll just take a quick shower, but go ahead, I’ll try to be quiet.”

He gives you a look you can’t quite place, but then he gets up and starts clearing the table. 

Always organized, everything in its place.

You grab a shirt and pj bottoms from your bag, along with your toiletries bag and head into the bathroom.

It’s small but much cleaner than these places usually are. You turn the shower up to its hottest setting and feel some of the tension seep out of your back.

You take your time brushing your teeth and when you step back out into the room, Hotch is already in bed, turned away from you, fast asleep from the even way his shoulder rises and falls.

You slide into your own bed and turn off the light. 

The room is plunged into darkness. 

You listen to Hotch’s calm, even breathing in the bed next to you and think about how strange it is to sleep in the same room as him. 

You have trouble reconciling the serious, driven man in a suit in his office, with this softer version of him in a shirt and boxer shorts, still focused, but more accessible.

Maybe this whole room sharing thing isn’t so bad after all. And you kept your promise to yourself: Professional all the way.

+++

When you wake up the next time, it’s completely dark.

It feels like you’ve barely fallen asleep, but the room is pitch black, so you must have slept.

For a moment you don’t know where you are, then you remember: South Carolina, serial killer, motel, Hotch. 

You blink into the darkness and try to figure out what woke you. A noise? Is someone trying to get in?

As you try to keep your breathing level, you strain to hear. 

Then you realize the sound that woke you wasn’t outside, it’s inside. 

All of a sudden you’re wide awake, adrenaline pumping through your body. 

And then you realize: The sound you heard wasn’t an intruder coming to murder you. 

It’s coming from the bed next to you.

It’s Hotch.

It takes your sleep-addled brain another beat or two to let go of the adrenaline-induced panic and to figure out that Hotch is probably talking in his sleep.

You hear soft little sighs from his side of the room and you’re not sure if he’s dreaming or awake. Hotch doesn’t seem like the type to talk in his sleep, but maybe you were wrong on that count.

You turn your head slightly, eyes adjusting to the dark. It doesn’t sound like Hotch is in distress or having a nightmare. 

No, it kind of sounds, like, maybe--you blink into the dark, notice how his back is moving and then--oh.

Hotch is jerking off in the bed next to you.

Heat crawls up your neck and you struggle to keep your breathing calm. You bite your lip and wonder if he can tell that you’re awake. But no, he seems lost in his own world and you have no idea what to do now.

Your hearing seems to have improved tenfold now that you know what’s going on and you hear his soft little breaths, the rustle of his hand moving under the cover and the way his hip slides against the bedspread.

You will your brain just to go back to sleep, but your body betrays you and stays wide awake.

In a way it’s not your fault really, you didn’t plan to listen to him like this, but now that it’s happening there is no way you can go back to sleep.

Without really consciously thinking about it, your mind helpfully supplies images of Hotch: The white shirt stretched across his back, his hand around his cock (not that you know what that looks like), his face scrunched up in concentration as he tries to be quiet.

You shift in your bed, hoping it sounds just like someone would, when turning in their sleep. 

You feel like you shouldn’t be listening to his private moment, but at the same time you feel warmth pool low in your belly and it’s not like you’re the one who decided to do this in the middle of the night.

And it’s not like you’re immune to the barely audible noises he makes.

 _Well, fuck_ , you think, now you kind of want to touch yourself too, but you’re pretty sure that’s just a disaster waiting to happen. 

You never were the quiet type.

And then you hear him say your name.

For a second you freeze completely and then you realize he wasn’t talking to you, he was moaning your name.

While he was touching himself.

You gasp and immediately cover your mouth with your hand.

But it’s too late.

The sounds in the next bed stop and for a moment the room is deathly silent.

Then, out of the dark, Hotch’s voice, scratchy, quiet: ”Y/N? Are you awake?”

You consider not saying anything and pretending you’re fast asleep, but you’re pretty sure he heard you just fine.

“Y--yeah.” Your voice is shaky, because wow, you are so not prepared for this conversation.

There is another long silence. 

You can hear him take a few deep breaths. 

“I apologize,” his voice is carefully neutral, but you’re a profiler, you are ace at your job and you hear how hard he’s working to keep his voice even and calm. “I thought you were asleep, and well--. Still, this is inexcusable, I’ll--uh, think I’ll head out for a bit of fresh air now.”

You hear his sheets rustling and you’re not sure you could face him right now and besides you’re--curious, sometimes to a fault.

“No, wait. Don’t go, don’t--ah, turn on the light.”

You feel him still next to you, more than you actually see it. But now you can’t take it back and well, it’s not like you have anything to lose anyway. 

Except your job, obviously, but still.

You squeeze your eyes shut in the dark and then you ask, “Were you--did you say my name just now, when you--.” Your voice fades away, because you can’t say it out loud, you can’t, because if you’re wrong or you misheard, then the ground better open up and swallow you whole and--

“Yes.”

For a moment, it feels like all the air rushes out of you before it slams back into your lungs. Without thinking you untangle yourself from your sheets and get up. The carpet is soft under your feet as you cover the short distance to his bed.

Hotch is sitting on the edge of the mattress and in the dark you can only almost make out the outline of his body. You can tell how anxious he is by the way he sits up straighter than he usually would.

You stand in front of him and before you lose all your nerve, you touch your hand to his shoulder. The muscles under your fingers twitch.

“What were you thinking about, when you--when you thought of me?” You’re not quite sure where this is going yet, but you do want to know what he was fantasizing about and you also desperately want to make this less, well, tense.

You can hear him swallow in the dark and rub his hands over his thighs.

“Y/N, I really don’t think I should--it was nothing.”

You trail your hand up his shoulder, skating along the side of his neck. You can feel the warmth there and are surprised to realize Aaron’s blushing under your touch.

“Bullshit,” you say, voice unwavering, even though on the inside you’re trembling with nerves.

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. 

“I was thinking about you. In the shower. And about me. Joining you there.” 

He lets out another shaky breath, drops his hands to his sides, and you’re stunned, because wow, that was not what you expected. 

Then again, up until a few moments ago, you didn’t even know that your solid, straightforward boss apparently had just as many unprofessional thoughts about you as you had about him.

“Y/N, I really _am_ sorry. I’ll see if I can get another room for the next couple of nights. And obviously, we’ll have to--”

“Shut up.”

He actually starts at the sharpness of your voice, but jesus, this man can be pretty slow for a brilliant FBI agent.

Without giving yourself time to second guess it, you step closer to him and put a knee on the bed, slide your other leg over and straddle his lap. 

You can feel his dick, still half-hard, settle against the warmth between your legs and swallow a gasp.

You cup his face in your hands. “Aaron. I’ve been having unprofessional thoughts about you for weeks, well, months. So at the very least, we’re even now.”

Under your hands you can feel the muscles in his jaw work and you stay still on top of him, giving him time to process. 

When the silence stretches, though, you start to feel anxious. Maybe you read it all wrong? Maybe Aaron just needed to get off and thinking of you was just the most convenient outlet?

Then he moves and his hands curl around your hips. You can feel how warm they are through your shirt.

“Unprofessional thoughts?” he says and his voice is darker now, sure where it wasn’t before.

You close the remaining distance between him and you, your breasts pressing against his chest.

“Oh, yeah. Lots.”

You feel his smile bloom under your hands and oh, _oh_.

The first kiss is impossibly gentle, almost like he’s asking your permission. His lips are soft and open when you slide your tongue against his. 

Aaron, unsurprisingly, is a fantastic kisser. 

You trail a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and get lost in the kiss, your hips rocking against him slowly.

When you break apart, your breathing is uneven and his hands have slipped under your shirt, fingers trailing over your back. One is sticky from where he touched himself just moments before and fuck, if that doesn’t turn you on more.

He leans closer and his open lips find the side of your neck, leaving wet kisses there. Goosebumps rise on your skin and you start rocking against him in earnest. 

It’s not enough, really, and your fingers trail down to the hem of his shirt and you unceremoniously tug it up and off of him.

For a moment, your hips stutter and lose their rhythm as your hands slide up his chest, tracing the muscles and scars there. 

You can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips and when he lifts your shirt over your head in turn, exposing your breasts to the warm air in the room, it feels intimate in a way you can’t quite describe.

Aaron’s hands cup your breasts, thumbs rubbing against your nipples and it’s all so slow and gentle and, “I promise, I won’t break,” you whisper and he huffs out a laugh.

“I didn’t think you would. I just--I think my brain hasn’t caught up to all of this yet.”

“Well, maybe it would help, if we got rid of the rest of these clothes?”

His hands twitch and squeeze your breasts and you moan. 

There’s a brief hesitation and then he squeezes your breasts again, just a little too hard and your breath stutters around another moan.

“Fuck,” he whispers against the side of your neck and sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin there. 

Aaron swears so rarely, it’s almost obscene to hear it now and you want to make him do it again.

“Clothes. Off,” you manage and slide out of his lap, your legs a little shaky.

“I thought, I was the boss,” Aaron says with that deep, amused voice, but he gets up too and easily slips out of his boxer shorts.

You take off your pj bottoms and then stand awkwardly and completely naked in the darkness of the motel room. 

You shiver, because you want this, but at the same time the reality of it is starting to sink it. But before you have time to panic another thought derails you.

“Aaron, ah, you don’t have a condom, do you?”

You hear him freeze and for a split-second you think, _oh no_.

Then he says, “Ah, yes, actually, hold on.”

He walks past you around the bed, quick, reassuring touch of his hand to your hip as he walks by, and then you hear him go through his bag. 

“Why?” One day you will learn to keep your mouth shut, but today is apparently not that day.

“It’s just practical, when you happen to--,” he clears his throat, “jerk off somewhere, where cleaning yourself up is not that easy.”

There’s a stunned silence and then Aaron laughs softly. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I’ll probably have to kill you later. You know too much now.”

Something in your heart loosens and you climb back on his bed, curl into the sheets that smell like him. 

“When you say ‘where cleaning yourself up is not that easy’, we’re talking about the bathroom on the jet, right?”

This time his laugh is sharp and a lot closer as he slides on to the bed next to you, your head touching his side. You can smell him, warm and musky, his naked body solid against yours. 

“Well, yeah.” His hand finds your hair and tangles in it. “Although, I have no fucking idea why I just told you that.”

If he keeps swearing like this, he won’t even have to touch you. You never realized how disarming it is, when he swears.

“It’s because I’m a good listener,” you manage to say, but your voice sounds rough to your own ears.

Aaron’s hand trails down from your hair and over your throat, resting there, the shape of his fingers following the curve of your neck. It’s strangely possessive and you go still next to him.

“You know,” he says, almost conversationally, his voice soft as velvet and so quiet you have to strain to hear him, “when I thought about you in the shower, I thought how you’d look all wet. I thought about how I’d slip in there with you and then push you against the wall. And then I thought about the way you’d taste and how you would shake against my lips.”

You swallow, mouth suddenly dry, and his fingers twitch against your throat, a little tighter than they were just a moment before.

You have no idea how he has you so figured out already, how he knows which buttons to push. But somehow it’s a comforting feeling to be known like this, open and vulnerable just for him.

“Show me,” you whisper and barely recognize your own husky voice.

There’s no hesitation now and Aaron tugs the bedsheets away from you, gently nudges your thighs apart. Between one breath and the next, he has moved from your side, down and between your legs, his breath ghosting along the inside of your thigh.

“Oh,” you say and then his tongue slips over your folds, torturously slow and your world narrows in on him and his mouth and how wet you are against his lips.

Aaron takes his time and laps at your pussy like he could do this all night. 

His hands are tucked under your thighs, holding them open and you can feel every finger pressed into the soft muscles there. 

You don’t quite know what to do with your hands and end up lightly resting one on his head. 

Aaron hums against your pussy and you shudder, because, “Do that again.”

He does and you grip his hair tighter, because his tongue is now curling against your clit and you already feel the heat coil in your belly, warm and immediate and you just wish that you could _see_ him do this.

“Aaron?” He hums but gets in another long, lazy lick over your pussy before he breaks away. “Can I--is it okay if I turn on the light? I want see you.”

“Yes, I would like that.”

The bed moves as he slides back, giving you more room. You feel the loss of his hands on you, his mouth, but if this is your only chance with him, you want to _see_ Aaron do all these things to you.

In the darkness, you fumble for the lamp cord and finally find the switch and turn it on. 

Your shirt hangs over the lamp, half covering it, but you like how soft it makes the light.

You turn back to Aaron, where he’s sitting on the bed between your legs and you bite your lips, because shit, if he isn’t an absolute sight to behold.

His eyes are dark and never leave your face, his lips glisten wetly and the muscles in his chest are working, his breathing uneven. His dick is hard, curving up and you’re frozen, because this is nothing like you imagined.

It’s better.

“I’m pretty sure I could come just from looking at you,” is what you finally say and immediately regret it, because _way to be smooth_ , but Aaron is startled into a laugh. 

“I sincerely doubt that,” he says.

If your body wasn’t still tingling all over, hot and ready for more, you’d probably laugh too, but your eyes keep trailing to his cock, thinking about all the things he could do to you.

“Come here,” you say and he does without hesitation, easily moving on top of you. 

You pull him in for a kiss by the back of his neck, urgent now, tasting yourself on his lips. He hums and you grow impatient, the ache between your legs making you bold, as you say, “Fuck me. Please.”

Aaron breaks away panting. “Shit, that mouth of yours,” he says and there’s a glint in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine.

He searches next to you on the bed and finally finds the condom somewhere between the sheets. He rips it open and before he has time to move, you take it from him and roll it over his dick. 

He inhales sharply, but you’re done waiting and press the tip of his cock to your pussy, winding one leg around him.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice raspy, “should have done this a lot sooner.”

Before you can think of a witty comeback, he slides into you with one slick move, almost too much at once and you gasp, fingertips digging into his back, holding on.

He gives you a moment to adjust to the feel of him, thick inside you, balls snug against your ass.

For a moment you can’t quite believe that this is actually happening, him naked on top of you and about to fuck you, but then he starts moving inside you and your train of thought slips away from you.

Aaron takes you at your word that you won’t break and sets the pace, slides almost all the way out of your pussy and then slams back in. 

The feeling of his dick leaving your body one moment and then filling you up the next is exquisite and just a little too much and damn, he’s really good at this, too.

His eyes are on your face, pupils blown wide as he fucks into you, slight crease of concentration on his forehead. 

You keep swearing under your breath, because _fuck_ , if he keeps going like this, you won’t last very long.

You feel his right hand slide against your shoulder, then gently wrap around the side of your neck. 

His thumb presses into the soft skin underneath your chin, holding you there, gentle but sure, and the moan that comes out of your mouth steals your breath away.

You have no idea _how_ he knows what turns you on, but the sensory overload of it sends electricity through your body, heightens the relentless pace of him fucking into you.

Aaron’s hold on your neck tightens, just a little, just this side of too much and you helplessly arch against him, pleading for _more_ and _please_ and _Aaron_.

“Look at you,” his voice is rough and a little awed.

He grabs your other leg, the one that’s not around his waist, and bends it sideways, opening you up more. 

To balance he has to put more weight on where his hand is still wrapped around your neck and for a second you lose all conscious thought, stars dancing at the corner of your vision.

You make a small noise that you barely recognize as your own and Aaron immediately loosens his hold on you. 

You gasp for air and then you’re coming, orgasm rolling through your body, your pussy clenching tight around his dick.

He fucks you through it, never slowing down, his rhythm stuttering as he watches your face, thumb stroking the sensitive skin under your jaw almost tenderly.

You shiver as you slowly come down, wet and warm where he’s still fucking you, his hand holding your thigh in place, leaving bruises. You’ve probably left some on his back as well and if this is the only time the two of you will ever be doing this, you want him to remember it.

You blink back into yourself, but Aaron’s not looking at you, eyes closed and focused on taking what he needs from you. 

There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his chest and you run your hand through it as he fucks you. 

It’s almost too much now, your nerves still open and raw from your orgasm, too sensitive where his dick keeps spreading you open with every stroke.

Then his hand slips away from your neck, his eyes fly open and he says, “Fuck, Y/N,” and comes too, burying his dick deep inside you.

You can feel his cock pulse inside you and hold him through it, his hips stuttering against you, hand letting go of your thigh to curl around your hip.

He’s breathing hard, small noises falling from his lips as he slowly stops moving and before you can say anything, he slips out of you, ties the condom up neatly and throws it somewhere in the general direction of the trash can by the desk.

You feel the loss of him inside you, thighs sticky with your own come, the ghost touch of his fingers on your neck.

He collapses next to you, panting, both of you staring up at the ceiling.

You’ve lost all sense of time, drifting, your muscles relaxed and tender where he fucked you. 

You start slightly, when he shifts next to you and then pulls the blanket over both of your bodies. 

Shifting under the blanket, where the fabric is sticking to your sensitive skin, you try to think of something to say. Anything. Because now that your blissed out mind has time to focus again, you kind of start freaking out. What’s the etiquette here? Go to your own bed and pretend this didn’t happen? Ask for another round?

Aaron reads your thoughts. “You know, I do apologize for, ah--well, jerking off in the bed next to you. It was inappropriate and I always planned for this to go very differently than this.”

You laugh, because after all he’s done with you tonight, _this_ is what he chooses to worry about. 

And then your brain catches up to his words and you turn your head towards him in surprise. “Wait, what? What do you mean you planned for this?”

Aaron is steadfastly looking up at the ceiling, when he says, “I’ve been meaning to ask you out on, well, a date. For a while now, actually. But--I wasn’t sure, if you would agree and I _am_ still your boss, so if you’d said no that would have been--problematic.”

You turn to him, propping your head up on one arm. 

For a moment you hesitate and then softly place your other hand on his chest. 

Finally, he turns to you and his eyes meet yours, open and vulnerable. You have the sudden urge to kiss his worries away and follow the impulse, your lips sliding softly against his.

“So, you’re telling me,” you say, breaking the kiss, “you did not in fact plan to fuck me in a dingy motel in the middle of rural South Carolina?”

Aaron smiles sharply at you. “Well, it seems like I skipped a few steps between going to a nice Italian place for dinner and finding out you like to be choked, but right now I can’t seem to bring myself to care too much about that.”

You blush, hard, because well, he’s right, but you’re also embarrassed at what his words are doing to you and you squirm under the sheets, because fuck if you don’t want to go again right now.

Aaron grabs your chin and pulls you in again, kissing you long and hard. 

“I do want to take you on that date, though,” he says, quiet against your lips, “and I know it’s not very sexy, but we will need to figure out how to handle this at work going forward.”

Something flutters in your chest, when you realize he’s serious about this and wants more than just tonight. 

“I’d like that,” you finally say and he rewards you with another kiss.

When you break apart again, he has moved closer, hand pressing against the small of your back, holding you close. 

“But for now, I would really like to hold you down and fuck you again,” Aaron says and you can’t think of a single reason to say no to that.

**Author's Note:**

> What I love about this fandom is how I set out to write one type of fic and then end up writing Aaron Hotchner/Reader instead. This fic's working title was originally "Budget Cuts".
> 
> Again: If this were a regular workplace situation Aaron's behavior would be beyond inappropriate, but I hope you'll forgive me for it in this context. It's not like I'd mind if it was him and me in a room.


End file.
